


(Heart)strings

by exfanficaddict



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Guitars, Holding Hands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exfanficaddict/pseuds/exfanficaddict
Summary: Atsumu loves the guitar for the calluses it leaves on Kiyoomi’s fingers.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 80





	(Heart)strings

**Author's Note:**

> warning: author knows nothing about guitars

Atsumu loves the guitar for the calluses it leaves on Kiyoomi’s fingers.

He feels them in the morning, as a warm hand traces the lines of his chest, and a raspy voice whispers in his ear, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

He feels them in the afternoon, just for an instant as a hard palm slaps against his, and vibrates through his entire being. “Give me one more point, Omi!” he cheers, grinning with all his teeth.

He feels them in the evening, dragging slowly through his hair and stroking the nape of his neck, leaving tiny shivers in their wake. 

“Are you sleeping?” comes a soft question from somewhere above him.

Atsumu tilts his face up from where it’s buried in their comforter. "Not yet,” he slurs. He squints up at Kiyoomi’s silhouette, softened by the warm glow of the bedside lamp. He’s kneeling on the mattress, curls damp from the shower, and wearing Atsumu’s shirt. The collar dips under the line of his collarbones; a bit of moisture has gathered there. Atsumu looks at him, and feels the rough brush of his fingers on skin. He thinks to himself, he’s beautiful. 

“Shall I play for you?”

The question is a common one. Since picking up the guitar months ago, Kiyoomi had often requested an audience. He’d lounge in the chair at the window for hours, guitar in his lap and long fingers fluttering across the strings. _Is this tuned correctly?_ he’d mutter, strumming a chord with his brow knit in frustration. _Not sure the capo goes here,_ he’d grumble, fiddling at the smooth neck of the instrument. _Did that sound all right?_ he’d ask, dark eyes flicking up to meet Atsumu’s.

Atsumu was an active audience _—_ mostly. _Yes,_ he’d answer. _That’s fine. It’s gorgeous._ And Kiyoomi would give him that look that hovered between annoyance and fondness, like he knew Atsumu was lying his ass off, but loved him for it anyway.

But Atsumu wants something else tonight.

“Hmm,” he says, “Ya ever thought of showin’ me how to play?”

“You want to learn?”

“Yeah. Can ya teach me?”

Kiyoomi’s got that funny look on his face again, the corner of his mouth tilting up. He unfolds himself from the mattress, and pads across the room to retrieve his guitar. Atsumu sits up, eyes following his lean form.

“Move over. Let me show you how to hold it.”

They end up against the headboard, back to chest. Kiyoomi has Atsumu seated between his legs, chin hooked over his shoulder as they watch their hands move together on the strings, across the frets. His fingers are gentle as they shape Atsumu’s around the neck of the guitar, pressing them down. 

“This is a pentatonic,” he instructs, breath warming the rim of Atsumu’s ear. “G major.” The tips of his fingers are hard and rough where they press into Atsumu’s well-manicured ones. 

“Here’s another.” Kiyoomi’s forearms flex as they move Atsumu into a new position. “G minor.” 

“Not sure I hear the difference,” says Atsumu. “Do it again?”

A soft huff of laughter. He feels the powerful body behind him shift for better leverage, legs drawing up to bracket Atsumu’s thighs. A socked foot presses against the side of his leg, tucks under his knee. Kiyoomi leans in, nose grazing the short hairs of Atsumu’s undercut, and soft curls tickling his neck. Atsumu shivers.

“G major,” he hears in a whisper against his cheek. Those warm, rough fingers press again into his skin. “G minor.”

“One more time,” says Atsumu, just as quietly.

“G major.” A thumb curls around his wrist. “G minor.”

The notes fade in the hush of their apartment, and for a moment, they sit in silence. Atsumu looks down at their hands on the guitar, the cradle of Kiyoomi’s long fingers over his, the contrast in the colors of their skin. 

“Listen for a minute,” whispers Kiyoomi. “Let me play you something, sweetheart.” Then he’s tugging Atsumu away, tucking his arms to his chest. Atsumu lets himself be moved as Kiyoomi leans forward again to reposition the guitar in his own grip, arms tightening on either side of Atsumu’s shoulders. 

As he begins to strum, Atsumu’s eyes slip closed.

The song is one he hasn't heard before, slow and unhurried and with a melody like the gradual swells of the ocean. The notes are sweet and clear under Kiyoomi’s careful fingers. Atsumu leans into his embrace, mind empty but for the press of Kiyoomi’s neck against his, the slow thump of his heartbeat at his back, the firm circle of his arms, the vibration of the instrument on his chest. He drifts. The moment, it seems, lasts a minute and forever.

It’s still too soon when Kiyoomi plays the last chord. It rings in Atumu’s ears, washes in color across the back of his eyelids.

He almost startles at the feeling of those rough hands on his skin, in their slow glide from elbow to wrist that draws heat to his cheeks. His eyes open to see long fingers slotting between his, and curling in to press those callused pads against his palms. Intertwined, their hands rest on the wood of the guitar in Atsumu’s lap.

Kiyoomi breathes a question in his ear: “How did that sound?”

He answers, with honesty this time, “Gorgeous, Omi.”

Pulling their hands over his heart, he twists around to lay a kiss on Kiyoomi’s smiling mouth. The guitar is soon pushed out of the way as he climbs on top of him, kiss deepening, hands sliding under the shirt that Kiyoomi wears so well to chase the warmth of his abs. Shuddering, he feels those callused, clever fingers start a meandering path down his spine. 

He holds Kiyoomi and mouths, against his neck, an answer to his song: _Yes. Of course. I love you._

_I love you—_

_I love you—_

_I love you._


End file.
